Today, I feel like Pinocchio when he became a real boy. I've been wishing for so long to be published, and now it's happened. I'm real too.
I worked most of yesterday and part of today getting Couillon, my short story, out there, and I have a new respect for all the work a publisher does. After sorting out copyrights and ISBNs and formats for each individual seller, Couillon is now available for sale via Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords.
I'm having a glass of champagne right now to celebrate, but trust me, it's a ruse. Until today, until I opened myself up to the world, not just to people who are my friends, I had a safe cocoon built where I didn't have to face whether or not I'm a good writer. I know, whiny, but still insecurity is one of my biggest problems. Yes, I've learned to put up a facade that makes me look confident -- thank you, IBM consulting job -- but that's all it is, a facade. I almost had a panic attack last night just thinking about all the people who are going to hate my story.
Being real is scary.